Faith in War
by Henrietta R. Hippo
Summary: It's the end of WWII and the allies are searching for the infamous country who started it all, but when England has Germany cornered he just can't pull the trigger; America is not best pleased and demands to know why England could not kill the man who put them through hell...could it be that England no longer believes in the cause?


**Title: Faith in War**

**It's the end of WWII and the allies are searching for the infamous country who started it all, but when England has Germany cornered he just can't pull the trigger; America is not best pleased and demands to know why England could not kill the man who put them through hell...could it be England no longer believes in the cause?**

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The rain hammered heavily on the muddy ground, wind billowing through the cold air so fast it almost block out the sound of the deep thunder exploding in the dark sky, although maybe those were just the bombs being dropped. A stampede of footsteps, at least a thousand men or more, all shouting to be heard over the deafening noise overhead, crouched low as they charged through the city of Berlin, clearing a path through the debris that was piled up around them. Destruction and mayhem met them at every corner, buildings ravaged to the ground, fires blazing; citizen's screams were drowned out by the fighter planes tearing across the sky, dropping bombs onto innocent people in the hopes of destroying some enemy territory.

Just miles from the massacre, on the outskirts of the German city, the real hunt was taking place. Unbeknownst to the British troops marching through the main city, their leader was in high pursuit of their countries biggest foe. England darted through the trees that were blackened by the night, not letting the heavy weight of his drenched military uniform slow him down as he tore after his enemy. Germany bound faster across the damp ground, scrubbing his blood soaked knuckles across his eyes to clear his vision; the rain buffeting down through the dense trees was only growing heavier, pounding down harder.

But England knew better than to let a little rain stand in his way; he was British, he'd been training his entire life for this. His grip tightened on his trusted handgun, usually he wouldn't carry such weapons around with him, but he had a task at hand. With all the strength he could muster into his aching legs he ran faster, darting in and out of the skinny trees, dodging low branches and jumping over protruding roots as he homed in on the German ahead on him. The forest suddenly started to incline and Germany slowed down, his body now drained of energy and will power he just couldn't keep up the pace. England seized the chance, charging up the hill in one powerful leap he launched himself into the German, wrangling him around the neck and forcing him hard into a tree.

The German wheezed out in pain, clawing at the Brit's hands on his throat he tried to reverse their positions, his eyes shifting, panic-stricken, to the gun pressed against his neck. England could barely see what was happening in front of his own face, his vision obstructed by rain, ears defended by roaring thunder and the rumble of bombs detonating just miles overhead. All he could sense, all he could feel was the blinding rage present in his blood, for the man struggling in his tight grip. Germany's resistance was weakening, a man who had spent so much time fleeing recently it was no surprise he was so physically drained. It was time to put an end to it all.

England released him in one mighty shove, knocking him straight back into the trunk of the tree where he crumpled and fell to a heap on the sodden ground. The next moment the barrel of England's gun was aimed directly at the German's head, the very tip pressing into his forehead. Germany showed no fear, he grit his teeth, breath coming out in deep pants as he stayed put on his knees in the thick mud, dark eyes fixed up at his foe. Rain continued to pour down over them, the thunder had moved further away and was now a distant rumble; the bombing, for now, had halted.

It was just them, Germany and England; the Brit with a gun pressed firmly against the German's head. Now all it would take is a final pull on the trigger...

England's finger quivered, his glare deepened and he squeezed his hand. Yet the gun didn't fire, his index finger hadn't budged...he couldn't shoot. Germany wiped the blood off his bottom lip with his tongue and spat it into the grubby ground. "Go on, do it." he snarled suddenly into the tense silence.

England almost jumped at the sound, hand tightening on his gun. "...what?" he said distortedly, his composure dropping slightly.

"What are you waiting for?" Germany demanded, his knuckles clenching into tight fists on top of the ripped knees of his military suit. England just stared, unmoving, and the German let out a harsh growl. "Just kill me already!" he barked up at the Brit. Still England stayed stood frozen in position, his appendages going numb from the cold, but that wasn't the reason he couldn't move. Germany was breathing heavily, his teeth bared and clenched, but suddenly his shoulders dropped, and his eyes squeezed closed. "Please...I deserve it."

"What?" England was startled by the tone of Germany's voice, he was pleading, no, begging with him.

Germany braced his hands against the soft ground, his whole body slumping forwards. "Just pull the trigger, put an end to all this...this nightmare that I've created." his voice was woeful, almost choked up, and England could do nothing but stare, stunned into silence, it was something he'd never have anticipated. The German suddenly sat back up, dark eyes narrowed once more. "Do it!" he spat. "This has to end...it has to end like this." Germany's deep eyes bore searchingly into the Brit's own as he lay defeated at his feet.

England's outstretched arm only became more hesitant, his finger hovering away from the trigger. "...I don't want it to end like this." he said through gritted teeth, tearing his eyes away from the German's; a powerful wind whipped through the trees and chilled him to the bone.

"How else can it possibly end, England?" Germany croaked softly, his body quaking in the cold. "I never had a chance...I didn't want this!" he growled, suddenly pounding the muddy ground with his fists. "Everything that's happened, it was all _him_...I didn't want to start this pointless war!" the German clawed at the hair stuck flat to his head, his face screwed up in anguish as rain poured down his face...or were those tears? He slowly looked up at the Brit, and England could have shuddered at the look those dead eyes gave him. Germany let out a shuddering sigh. "So just hurry und kill me...because the sooner you do it the more innocent lives can be spared..."

England swallowed heavily, his finger resting once more on the trigger of his handgun. He stayed stood, gun braced against the German's head, finger shaking, hand twitching; the rain pattered around them, much lighter now, and the Brit could hear so many different thoughts running through his clouded mind. A yell suddenly sounded from somewhere in the not too far off distance; England spun around to stare, horrified, into the darkness, his troops were headed their way. He turned back round, Germany was still braced on his knees, eyes clenched shut as he waited to die.

England grit his teeth, and in one swift movement he hurled his gun into the trees, it landed somewhere in the deep blackness, hidden from sight. Germany's eyes squinted open at the sound, he saw the Brit in front of him, unarmed; the German's lips moved, as if wanting to speak, but no words came out. England grudgingly turned his back on the German. "...run." he grunted softly.

Germany slowly struggled to his feet, hands braced behind him on the tree; he stared at the back of the Brit, forehead creasing with bewilderment. "...what?" uttered.

"The British troops are on there way, if they see you they'll shoot...you have to run." England said hurriedly, fear lurching in his chest as the sounds of the approaching troops got steadily louder.

Germany swallowed slightly, "England-"

England whirled around, grabbing the German by the shoulders. "GO! Now!" he yelled, shoving him in the opposite direction to the stampede of British troops.

Germany stumbled slightly across the wet ground, his eyes never once leaving the Brit's. He gave England one last dumbfounded look before he too registered the sounds of the approaching troops, spinning on his heel the German fled through the trees into the night. England watched him disappear into the darkness before racing down the incline to meet his troops.

**~0~**

England slowly trudged towards the small camp bed at the end of his tent, his arms shaking slightly as he dragged his military jacket down his arms, dumping it on the back of his chair on the way past. His knees wouldn't stop trembling, they'd been that way since he and the British troops had retreated back to their camps in Berlin after their 'failed' attempt to find Germany.

The Brit slid his hands into his damp hair, fingers twisting in his blond locks, tugging harshly. To think, all that planning, all that preparation, all the troops he'd issued into Berlin to help in the search for Germany...only to let him go when he himself had caught the man. England sighed, dragging his hands slowly down his face.

"You let him go."

England jumped violently at the voice behind him. He spun around to see the familiar face of his trusted alley, stood just in the entrance of his tent, hair and clothes damp from the rain still buffeting down outside. "What?" the Brit croaked, suddenly quite nervous.

America came nearer, the doors of the tent flapping harshly in the wind behind him. "Germany." he said simply, his expressionless face fixed on England. "You let him go."

England stared at him, swallowing slightly as he stuttered his response. "...h-how?"

"I was there." America muttered coldly. "I saw you going after him and I followed behind in case you got into any trouble." he stepped ever steadily nearer, eyes wide with disbelief behind his specs. "You had him in your sights...you just let him go." he said slowly, shaking his head.

England bit his lip slightly. "America..."

"He was on his knees!" the American yelled suddenly. "You had a gun, he was unarmed..." he held his arms up towards the air, staring at the Brit dubiously. "...why the hell didn't you shoot him!?"

England sighed, "America-"

"Do you have any idea how many people have died because of him!?" America cried, fists clenching at his sides. "How many innocent people have suffered? And then he's there on the ground at your mercy and you just throw your gun away!"

"America!"

"I don't understand! How can you be so-"

"SHUT UP! America!" England thundered, surging forwards as if wanting to hit his alley, but restraining himself just in time; America took a hesitant step back in surprise. The Brit glared at him, his jaw quivering. "Just shut up okay?" England stepped even closer, leaning up to address the American in the face. "How dare you stand there and judge me on something you can't even begin to understand." he growled slowly, his voice trembling.

"Understand what?" America snapped, glowering at the Brit. "That you let the guy we're fighting get away? The whole reason for this Goddamn war was right in front of you and you just let him go...what's there to understand about that?" he demanded, standing his ground.

England's eyes darted away, he took a step back, swallowing a lump in his throat. "...it's not his fault." he whispered shakily.

America was confused. "What?"

England clenched his jaw, dark eyes fixed on the American. "I said, it's not his fault." he spat.

America stared at him, mouth gaping open in shock. "England...what the hell is wrong with you?" he said slowly, inhaling sharply. "He's killed millions of innocent people!" he shot at him in a bout on anger.

"Did he?" England gasped out in exaggerated astonishment. "Well good golly America that's a lot of people, how on earth did Germany manage that many all by himself? Must have been killing thousands and thousands a day to reach that amount!" he cried out sarcastically.

America growled irritably. "You know what I mean!" he snapped.

"Yes America, I do." England answered abruptly, taking a deep breath he began slowly pacing around the small confinements of the tent. "But just think about that for a second." he stopped moving, holding up a hand to silence his alley when he tried to interrupt. "Okay yes, his country is responsible for all of those deaths...but Germany himself isn't the one who's behind it all."

America sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "England I know who you're talking about." he said slowly. "But come on England we're the ones in charge! If our bosses try to do something we don't agree with we can say no!"

"Can we?" England asked incredulously. "Well maybe you can America, but some of us can't." he muttered darkly.

"England, Germany could have gone against his boss if he wanted to." America said firmly. "But he didn't, and that makes him the bad guy."

"The bad guy!?" England blurted out in disbelief, nose wrinkled almost in disgust. "Do you even hear yourself America? There is no such thing as good guys and bad guys! It's just all of us fighting in a bloody pointless war!" he bellowed, his voice loud enough to rival the billowing wind outside, still shaking the confines of the tent.

America stared at him, a cold, tense silence filled the space; the American shook his head. "England what the hell is wrong with you? You're the one who started fighting Germany in the first place! Now all of a sudden you think it's a bad idea!?" he implored desperately.

England narrowed his eyes. "No America I don't, because his boss is trying to take over the world and I am fighting to try and prevent it!" he snapped.

"And you don't think trying to take over the world makes Germany the bad guy?" America asked in bewilderment.

"I'm fighting FOR him America!" England raged, his pale face reddening. His words silenced the American; the Brit swallowed slowly, folding his arms across his chest. "Not for me...for him." he murmured softly, dejected gaze falling to his muddy boots.

America just stared at him. "...what?"

"America he doesn't want this." England said quietly, biting his lip; he glanced up at his alley's befuddled face and sighed. "Germany, he doesn't want to control the world; it's his boss, he's fucked up in the head and Germany can't control him!" he insisted, preaching imploringly to the man in front of him. "He's just following orders America...I wouldn't be surprised if Germany had no idea of the horrors going on in Auschwitz."

"England you can't be serious..." America said softly, eyes narrowing. "I mean hell if we've found out all about it there's no way Germany doesn't know!"

"Well even if he does there's nothing he can do to stop it is there?"

"Isn't there? It's his damn country!"

"No it isn't!" England cried, his voice breaking as he spoke. He took a deep, shuddering breath, slowly shaking his head. "Not anymore...he doesn't have control anymore America, if he did he wouldn't have allowed any of this to happen."

"Yes he would because he's evil!" America insisted desperately.

"Oh shut up America!" England yelled, glowering at his alley. "You didn't even care about what was going on until Japan blew up your bloody harbour!"

"Hey that is not true!" America snapped defensively.

"Yes it is! You wouldn't even be here right now if that hadn't of happened!" England shot back, pointing an accusing finger at the American's chest. "You'd have just left France and I to sort it all out because you knew Germany would never invade the US! You only care about yourself!"

America stood staring, mouth gaping at the Brit, undoubtedly insulted. "So this is the thanks I get for trying to help you win this war!?" he yelled, eyes darkening.

"I don't even want to win this war!" England blurted out suddenly, angry tears springing to his eyes.

America reeled backwards in shock; the Brit turned away, biting his lip. "...what?" the America croaked.

England shook his head, pacing to the other side of the tent with his head in his hands. "Oh God..."

"England..." the American grabbed the back of the Brit's drenched shirt, tugging him around to face him. "...you can't want Germany to win this war." he said softly, eyebrows furrowed.

England shook his head, desperately fighting back tears. "No I don't, but I don't want to win either!" he cried, his voice wavering noticeably. He sighed, scrubbing at the moisture starting to form in his eyes. "How is that going to look in a decades time hmm?" he asked the American, biting down hard on his bottom lip. "A second world war, the allies win...and Germany is forever known as the country that tried to exterminate the Jews..."

"Why does that bother you?" America asked in confusion. "England you'll be one of the heroes! That's who you should want to be, this is the side you want to be on." he insisted, grabbing hold of the Brit's wrists.

A tear slowly made it's way down England's face, he tugged his hands free to wipe it away, pulling away from his alley. "...no, it's not worth it." he whispered shakily.

"England..."

England let out a shuddering sigh. "America I don't expect you to understand."

America shook his head. "Then explain it to me cause I don't know the hells gotten into you, England." he said, dropping his arms to his sides in defeat.

England swallowed heavily, dabbing at his eyes. "Do you have any idea how hard it is being hated by everyone?" he asked slowly.

America wrinkled his nose in confusion. "What?"

"You have Canada, that's all you have to deal with." England said, quirking an eyebrow. "He might hate you or he might not, but does that impact you in any way?"

"England I don't know what you're talking about." America muttered.

England breathed in sharply, his lip quivering; he scrubbed a hand through his hair, desperately holding back his emotions. "I have worked and slaved for years and years to be accepted by Europe." he spat, gritting his teeth. "A continent I have been a part of since the beginning, but am I even a part of it?" he asked, giving a harsh laugh. "No one thinks of England as being a European country...it's as if I'm not even in a continent, I'm just floating around by myself."

"What's that got to do with Germany?" America queried.

"America this war could destroy Europe, think about it!" England moaned, gripping at his messy hair. "Everything's he's done, everyone he's hurt...no matter what the outcome..." he let out a quivering sigh, slowly closing his eyes. "I don't want Europe to fall apart because of this, I want us to come out intact." the Brit murmured softly.

"...you just said you're not even a part of it." America said slowly.

England bit his lip, tears spurting down his face. "I want to be..." he whispered, fists clenching at his sides; he sighed, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I don't know, maybe taking down Germany would be the thing that finally allows me to be accepted by the rest...but I can't do it." he gazed up at his alley despondently. "Germany is one of us America, I can't go against Europe."

"But that's exactly what you have to do, because Germany is trying to take over...do you really want that?" America implored, grabbing hold of the Brit's wrists again.

"I don't know what I want anymore..." England mumbled softly, sighing deeply. "I just want this war to be over without anyone getting hurt...we've had our problems in the past but...Germany is part of Europe, so he's part of my life, my...family." he said almost through gritted teeth.

"Germany is not part of your family England." America said firmly, narrowing his eyes. "He is going to lose this war one way or the other and he will get hurt." the Brit's eyes filled with more tears and the American just shook his head in disbelief. "England this is war." America barked out an astonished laugh. "Hell you've been fighting in wars and battles years before I was even born...why the hell do suddenly think this is a bad idea?"

England slowly shook his head, tears raining down his face as he let his hands slip free of the American's. He gave him a weak smile. "I guess I lost the faith in war..." he whispered, his tears beading off by his chin, dripping onto the grubby floor of the tent.

Before his alley could speak again the Brit had made for the flaps in the tent, grabbing them still and forcing them open. "Keep your troops stationed, attack as many of his as you like...but don't kill Germany." England said softly, dabbing away his tears. "He's the one who will have to live with the consequences of this war...and that's punishment enough." he left the tent swiftly before America could say anything else, shivering violently as he was greeted with the cold and drizzle once more. England didn't know where he was going, or why he was leaving, this wasn't the bloodiest battle he'd faced in his life time, far from it. But he couldn't stand it anymore, to hear the rumours, see for himself what Germany- no...the German's leader, had done. This war would forever be remembered, but for all the wrong reasons…

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**This won't be the most historically accurate, but I tried, loosely based on the song Desperate - David Archuleta (amazing song)**

**Because I haven't written a oneshot in a while**

**Reviews are love :)**


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